


Trust Me

by CoyoteGhost



Series: Devotion [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Ambush, Blackwatch Era, Blackwatch Jesse McCree, Blackwatch Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Blood, First part is Jackie boy, M/M, One-sided Mc76, Rehabilitation frustration, That good ol' sexual tension, second part is my main ship, that good ol' McReyes, trust building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-05 05:51:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15857514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoyoteGhost/pseuds/CoyoteGhost
Summary: It's just a secret little trip to Arkansas. How bad can it be?OrJack breaks down McCree. Thankfully, Reyes is there to build him back up.





	1. To Destroy

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, forgive me for making Jack out to be a bit of a villain, he's a good noodle. Now then, proceed!

It wasn't his fault.

Even if it was, could anybody _really_ blame him for ignoring McCree's warnings? Well, Gabe certainly would. Reyes would fight with him like it was Jack himself who'd fired on Blackwatch's little prince, especially since Jesse had been under false pretenses when convinced to join the mission. All things considered, Jack would feel as equally enraged as Reyes if the kid laying on the ground had been his star pupil, shot full of holes on a mission he wasn't even supposed to be on.

So maybe it was his fault, just a little bit.

It started with a trip to Arkansas. According to intel, black market smugglers from Indiana had been working with local gangs to hide and protect their shipments to and from Illinois and Missouri. In exchange for doing so, the gangs received extra manpower and lowered prices on weapons. Indiana was his home, and Jack felt personally responsible for stopping the smugglers' influence in the other state.

Normally, those kinds of missions were reserved for Blackwatch; quick, dirty, but no evidence left behind. They also had a better idea on how gangs, smugglers, and the black market ran. Jack was better equipped to help maintain public peace and order, but this mission needed special knowledge and training, something he didn't have.

Enter McCree.

The kid was a former criminal, and apparently a rather brilliant tactician according to Reyes. He was clever, quick, and deadly, truly one of Blackwatch's rising stars. It was exactly what Jack needed. If he were honest with himself, he'd even say he was impressed. Not that he'd ever confess to such things. Loathe as he was to admit it, Jack had grown overly fond of the little punk (when he wasn't being a disrespectful asshole, that is). It was hard not to, honestly. The kid had charisma, and when mixed with his freckled face and smooth, sultry voice, he was downright charming. More than he had any right to be, in Jack's opinion. Perhaps he'd be good at honeypot missions when he was a bit older, if Gabe would ever let him.

Even with all of those traits, Jesse was viewed fearfully and disdainfully on the shuttle to Arkansas. Whereas Overwatch agents were dressed in the proud white and blue, Jesse was full-on Blackwatch. Armed to the teeth and covered head to toe in black, it was a grim reminder of his true purpose. As such, all cheerful banter had ceased when McCree had joined the party, and just as they avoided Jesse, Jesse avoided them. He sat on the empty side of the shuttle, putting a good distance between the whispering agents and himself. Jack would have to be stupid to think those whispers weren't about McCree. He'd also have to be stupid to not realize that the kid was purposefully ignoring them. It was something that didn't make a lot of sense to him, though. McCree had outright threatened to fight agent Wilhelm the first week he'd been drafted into Blackwatch, simply because Reinhardt had made a careless remark about criminals within Overwatch's system. This wasn't like Jesse, to be unsettlingly silent and patient while the others talked shit about him. After watching him, though, Jack realized exactly what McCree was doing; he wasn't ignoring them. He was watching. Waiting. Biding his time.

The chilling thing was that Jack didn't know what for.

"Agent McCree."

With careful movements, Morrison settled down in the seat next to Jesse, watching the kid just as much he watched him. McCree grinned.

"Afternoon, Commander. To what do I owe the pleasure?" He paused, adjusting his chestplate and Peacekeeper's holster. "Your party seems awful quiet today, don't they? A little too proper for my Blackwatch taste, but maybe that's just me."

Although his facial expressions were relaxed into something genial, Jack could tell that Jesse was still tense. His posture was too rigid, and dark eyes bore holes into his own. An acknowledgment, a warning.

Jesse knew exactly what Jack had done. He knew he'd been lied to when Jack had said the mission was cleared with Reyes, knew from the composition of the team that this was personal, and knew the only reason he was there was because Morrison needed Blackwatch for his dirty work. Jack turned his head, flushed with shame, anger, and guilt.

Jesse knew, and he had sharply, subtly called Jack out in the worst way possible.

\------

"I really don't think this is a good idea."

They had barely gotten off of their transport when McCree began to talk, his hand lingering where his gun was. The way he moved implied anxiousness. Jack, however, knew that Gabriel had taught his student well; never have your weapon drawn unless you have the full intent to kill. Peacekeeper was holstered, but he could still see the twitch in Jesse's fingers.

Morrison rolled his eyes. "And why is that?"

Those dark eyes shot him another warning, an attempt at unspoken communication. This time, though, Jack couldn't discern the meaning behind it.

"Because I know a damn set up when I see one. It's kinda my job."

"I've been doing this a hell of a lot longer than you, kid, so just-"

"Don't matter how long," Jesse interrupted, "Because this is reckless and not any business of Overwatch proper. This should've been Blackwatch, but you let your own shit get in the way of your decision making." McCree's cheeks were flushed with his frustration, and he crossed his arms over his chest as to not fidget with Peacekeeper anymore.

"Like it or not," Jack started, "you're part of this team. This is your mission now, just like it is for every other agent here."

"I'm not a part of you team, never was and never will be. I don't report to you." Jesse was bitter and dark, his voice no longer as smooth and sultry as it often was. "But now your actual team, who has no experience with this kinda shit, is out here hoping that you know what the fuck you're doing, and chances are, you don't." Under his breath, he added, "Reyes should be here, not you. He does a better job, anyways."

Although Blackwatch was a bit of an open secret amongst the general Overwatch population, it was still swept under the rug and out of sight. The sister organization kept to itself, which was fine for both parties. Talking about Blackwatch and its intended purpose was less open, more confidential; the only thing most of Jack's agents knew was that Reyes's men left clean and came back bloody. Jesse was Gabriel's pet, his favorite, and he was allowed to lash out like this because Reyes did, too. Gabe believed that problems like the one McCree was fussing over were solved faster that way.

But Jack was not like Gabe, and if he weren't in such a familiar, calming place, he might've actually strangled McCree. To preserve both of their lives, he elected to ignore the kid for the time being to observe the landscape. Before them laid the vast fields of a farm, corn stalks tall and proud as far as the eye could see. Occasionally one might stumble onto the thin dirt lanes that split the fields, making it easier for farming equipment to move from place to place. In the distance, a barn and an old farmhouse could be made out, but just barely. It made Jack's heart ache for home. Still, he pushed those feelings aside. He had business to attend to, and from what intel he had, he knew that a shipment was supposed to come through this area around midday. It was early in the morning, enough time to set up an ambush.

"Everyone move into position. Watch for any movement and report it to me."

Without another thought, the Overwatch agents made their way into the corn field, the golden stalks devouring them whole. Of course, one stubborn agent remained. Jack wasn't even slightly surprised.

"You're an agent as well, McCree. Follow orders and move into-"

"I'm telling you, this is a bad idea." McCree's voice was insistent, angry. He stood tall and proud, just like Gabe. Eyes unwavering and sharp, just like Gabe. Unwilling to be swayed, to change, to just fucking listen. _Just like Gabe._

For the first time since knowing the kid, Jack physically lashed out, grabbing him by his shoulder and giving him a violent shove. Instantly, his wrist was caught and held almost painfully tight by McCree. He couldn't harm Jack, not really, not with the SEP, but he was honestly surprised (and frustrated) by the strength behind the kid's grip. Gabriel really did do a good job with this one.

"I'm not repeating myself again. Move into position. Now."

They locked eyes like fighting dogs, both glaring, both snarling, until finally McCree pushed away from Morrison. Wordlessly and with Blackwatch stealth, he disappeared into the corn fields.

Jack almost celebrated this small victory. The only person Jesse ever, and he meant _ever_ , listened to was Gabe. Ana and himself were ignored outright. At least the kid was cordial with Ana, but even her orders weren't followed. It was a slap in the face to both the captain and the Strike Commander. It reminded Jack of some of the wild mustangs his father used to buy; he'd get them because nobody else wanted to (or even could) train them. They were used to running free, having no master but themselves. These were horses you didn't break, no matter how much you tried. _They_ chose who they worked with, who they were loyal to, who they'd follow to the ends of the earth, and sometimes it wasn't you. He supposed this was also true of McCree.

Shaking his thoughts away, Jack moved into the corn field himself. It was still early morning, and he and his agents had a few hours to kill before the smugglers turned up. From his communicator, he could see the flashing beacons of his agents, scattered throughout the field. McCree was absent. Blackwatch had no biotrackers in their agents, simply for security reasons (and neither did Gabe, Ana, or himself). An enemy couldn't pick up a radio signal that didn't exist, after all. But Jack had faith that the kid wouldn't run (not for his sake, no, but because of Reyes. Whatever worked), and so he closed his communicator, waiting patiently in the morning sun.

\------

The static only lasted a few seconds. Still, it was enough for Jack to notice. It sounded like someone had accidentally opened the com's line and then shut it down not a second later. It'd happened before, so he wasn't particularly worried. When it happened a second time, though, Jack became a bit more concerned. Well, maybe the same agent was getting a bit restless and accidentally pressing the com. Nothing too terrible, right?

The third time it happened, a panicked voice rang out from the com line. It was silenced after a gunshot that echoed both through the com and around the field. After that, Jack didn't even need to pull up the biotracker information to know exactly what was happening. It was like a light switch. Around him, he could hear men running, screaming, firing guns in all different directions. An ambush. Before he could send out the signal to retreat, a man (it wasn't his own. No, this one had a rag covering his face and was too filthily dressed) rushed at him, but almost tumbled over in surprise. He hadn't known that Jack was even there. Before he could fire a shot or run away, the gang member was on the ground, struggling underneath the Strike Commander's weight. It was a pitiful struggle. It ended with the man's neck giving a loud crack before his body went limp.

Although he knew he had to act fast, Jack couldn't act without reason, so he quickly pulled up his communicator to check the beacons. He could feel his stomach drop. More than half were either gone or flashing red, an indicator of biological distress. The nearest beacon to him was a good distance away, but if he ran, he could get there in time.

As Jack ran, he thought briefly on the mission, on what McCree had told him. The kid hadn't liked this mission from the get go. With the anger of knowing he'd been deceived and separated from his team, Jesse was already sour. Both of their angers didn't really gee and haw, and Jack really should've factored in human nature before putting McCree in his roster. _Especially_ before putting McCree in his roster. Well, hindsight is 20/20, as they say.

From his left side, a cry of pain rang out amongst the dimming chaos. Speak of the devil. From a short distance away, Jesse was pinned under a gang member, bloodied and pale. It apparently wasn't McCree that squealed, but the other man on top of him; the kid had his fingers jammed straight in the man's eye sockets, blunt nails digging and scraping enough to make anyone cringe. But the attack was weak, weaker than it should've been, and Jesse needed help. Jack ran towards the two without thinking. He practically ripped the other man off McCree's body and just like the other man, his neck snapped and his body was discarded.

With that dealt with, the Strike Commander began looking over the young Blackwatch agent. Saying he looked like hell was an understatement. His clothes were torn, his face and body scratched and beaten. Jack could see that his right shoulder was bleeding profusely, something that would require medical attention. The wound was dirty and already looking quite nasty; most likely a gunshot wound taken at close range. The kid's body was racked with tremors, his glassy pupils blown and his breathing being closer to hyperventilation than anything. Quite honestly, he acted like this was his first kill, even though that was far from the truth. Something more serious was wrong.

"McCree! Hey, kid!"

Jesse said nothing (not that anything was expected, really), his only sign of acknowledging Jack being the feeble outreaching of his hand. So the kid was still slightly responsive. It needed to stay that way. Without a moment's hesitation, Jack fell to his knees, tearing off part of his shirt and pressing it firmly into McCree's shoulder with one hand. This time, he did scream. As best as he could, Jack clamped down his free hand on Jesse's mouth. Blood smeared across his freckled skin, and from the was McCree's face contorted, Jack could tell some was in his mouth. After a moment, the kid was quiet, and the hand over his mouth was removed.

"Come on, Jesse. Focus." Jack spoke in a whisper, gently moved the kid's hair out of his eyes. In the distance, the sound of talking and heavy footsteps began to proceed in their direction. Jack couldn't help but let out a quiet string of curses.

"Okay, kid. I'm gonna need you to work with me. Stay quiet and be still."

As carefully as he could, the Strike Commander smeared the remaining blood on his free hand through his blond hair and down his neck, then laid down and positioned his large body to hide McCree's smaller one. It was an awkward sort of embrace, but Jack had done it before in crisis situations. Instead of the enemy seeing the injured soldier, they simply saw Morrison's still, bloody body and assumed that he was dead. With the way McCree was trembling, though, it was a bit harder than normal. As tightly as he could while being mindful of the other's injuries, Jack pressed Jesse closer, front to front. Just in time.

"Yeah, found the noise. Member off to the side, dead man crumpled up over here. I'm not getting a signal from one of those biotrackers, so the poor bastard must've bled to death."

The voice was female in nature, and after lingering around for a few moment, she was gone. Jack took a breath, then looked down at the man cradled against his body. The attackers had picked up on their biotrackers. Jesse and himself not having one had saved both of their lives, but it would be useless if the kid went into shock. It was already pretty damn close. But Jack knew that if he called in an evac, he would be putting more agents and McCree at risk of being killed by the smugglers, so with a pained breath, he simply applied more pressure to Jesse's shoulder and shielded him from the hot midday sun.

\------

If Jack hadn't sung Angela's praises before, he surely would now. The worse thing that he had suffered was an intense sunburn, but most of his agents weren't that lucky. Those who weren't dead were severely injured, and they filled the small infirmary almost beyond its legal capacity. The most important thing to Jack, though, was that the kid had been saved. He would be debilitated for a while, but he would live. Still, in the fluorescent lighting of the sterile hallways, Jesse looked so pale and sickly.

Angela was trying desperately to find him a room, so Jack decided he would wait with the kid while she did so. Second after second of listening to raspy breathing and watching his body fight to keep him alive, even after surgery, did nothing for the Strike Commander's guilt.

"I'm sorry, Jess." He lowered his eyes, his hand carefully and gently running through McCree's hair as if it would make him feel better. "I never meant for it to go downhill like it did. I sure as hell didn't mean for you to end up in this state. I didn't listen, even though I knew you were right, even though I specifically brought you along for your damn opinions. I shouldn't have lied to you, either."

Jack did not cry often, not even in the face of death. He would admit he cried when he watched movies with Fareeha, but he had no need to be stoic with her. In the public eye, at the many funerals he'd had for his agents, he appeared strong and valiant. A beacon of hope in the darkness. But here, staring down at the broken body of the youngest agent of Overwatch and confessing his sins, Jack could feel his eyes stinging. He paused, regretfully removing his hand and stepping away from McCree. Maybe this whole thing had just been his twisted way of keeping Jesse for himself.

It was time to leave.

\-----

McCree really did feel bad about punching a nurse. He'd woken up to pain, blood, and tubes, and God bless the poor man who'd noticed his heart monitor screaming and tried to restrain him. He'd learned later from a very pissed Angela ("You punched the intern! I can't believe you, McCree!") that he had broken poor nurse Hudson's nose. He'd have to get both Hudson and Angela some gifts for their stress. He would also have to give something to Gabriel. The man was vaguely disheveled and beyond stressed, but according to Doc Ziegler, he had improved when Jesse was moved to an actual room.

Gabriel had been his guardian angel (pun intended) throughout the entire ordeal. He had made sure McCree had been properly treated and that his duties had been taken care of by some Blackwatch cadets with something to prove. Apparently Jack had visited a few times in the beginning, but only when Reyes wasn't around. Most of Blackwatch came by, and a lot of them left candy and a variety of alcoholic drinks (technically he wasn't old enough, but he'd been drinking for years). Also, apparently visiting him was some kid named Genji. Jesse had a hard time remembering how to properly say his last name; he'd get the hang of it eventually. But of all the people that came, Gabe was the only one to stay.

"Checkmate, kid."

Reyes had been playing a game of chess with him for about three days, on and off between paperwork and meetings. Jesse knew a distraction tactic when he saw one. Still, he was silently grateful for it, even if playing with one arm was a bit difficult. The other was tucked into a sling to keep his sutures in, and Jesse hated it.

"So," Gabe began, moving the pieces back to where they belonged. "Can you tell me what you remember from the mission? Take it slow, don't force it. Don't feel like you have to have it all laid out right now."

He moved first; white pawn two spaces. Jesse thought carefully, and mimicked Gabriel’s move.

"I remember being angry at you. Jack said you approved the mission to Arkansas and then you were gone to Los Cabos, and I felt like you'd just left me behind as a punishment."

Another pawn moved, but McCree mimicked again.

"I remember grabbing the plans without Morrison knowing and looking at them, like you let me do. His plan was a shitstorm, boss! It was destined to fail. Wasn't he part of the damn Omnic Crisis or something?"

A loud, hearty laugh spilled out of Gabe before he could stop it. Jesse's blatant observations usually came in some form of sass, but he was typically right. Jack sucked ass when it came to planning.

"He was, yes. He was too busy bitching about how he missed Indiana to plan properly. If it weren't for Ana and Athena, he couldn't even piss in the right bathroom, let alone plan a mission."

It was Jesse's turn to laugh, bringing his hand up to cover it up as much as he could. Although he'd never seen her in person, McCree mildly respected Ana. He was also afraid of her. At the request of Reyes, she tried to command him once from a holo-vid during a training simulation. After getting shot at a few times, Jesse disregarded her and proceeded on his own. Some of the Blackwatch agents joked that she would shoot him herself when she came back to base. Athena told him that it was improbable. Now, Jesse really did love Athena (although her monitoring his vitals was a bit annoying). It gave him someone to talk to when Reyes wasn't around, and when he was at the shooting range, she told him his statistics and how to better improve.

"Anyways." Gabe motioned for him to continue

"Well, I figured out pretty damn quick that it was personal, and that all of the other Blackwatch members that were on the roster were basically decoys to soothe me over if I asked. Everyone else was Overwatch proper. You'd be proud, I dressed in all black! Gotta represent."

In that moment, Jesse was grinning and laughing, but as time ticked on, Gabe watched as the mischief drained from the kid, replaced by an irritatingly good poker face; a remnant of a gang-taught survival tactic. Reyes been alive long enough to know that McCree was reliving some part of his nightmare of a mission. In a rare moment of pity, Gabe remembered just how _young_ Jesse truly was. His life was in a constant state of almost being over before it even started. He wasn't even twenty and he had more demons than most agents of Overwatch.

Carefully, Gabe moved his chair closer to the bed, moving the little nightstand that held their board and pieces out of the way. His hand laid gently on Jesse's arm, and although he flinched, he soon relaxed under the familiarity of Gabe.

"They saw my arm. They saw it. They said they were gonna sale me back to Deadlock. They were gonna take me back." McCree sniffled, dropping his head. His voice was quiet, and it pained Gabe to hear the desperation in his voice. "I don't wanna go back. I wanna stay. I wanna stay _here_. I don't wanna go."

Gabe pulled Jesse against his chest before he even thought on it. In hindsight, it was a bad move; the kid still had a hard time with touch, and that kind of transition, especially after a mission like this, was often difficult for even affectionate agents. But Gabe was pleasantly surprised when it was reciprocated. His heart ached painfully as the kid's single good hand gripped his shirt. Like he was smoke, like he might disappear.

"I'm not going anywhere, Jess," he said, feeling McCree grip harder as he shook. "I promise you, I'm not going anywhere."


	2. To Rebuild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reyes nearly choked on his own tongue as McCree slid quickly into his lap, chest to chest as his legs wrapped around Gabe's waist and his arms slithered around his neck. If it weren't for the fact that he was mentally frozen, Reyes would laugh at how Jesse looked like a sad koala.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! It's high time we have some McReyes!

Two weeks had passed since the incident in Arkansas, but Jesse wasn't loving life anymore than he did when he was propped up in the hospital bed.

All of Blackwatch, especially Reyes's Strike Team, had welcomed him back with smiles and pats on the back. Agents Sosa and Abbott (two agents that had quickly become McCree's prank partners) even said they'd help him devise a mischievous masterpiece for Morrison if he wanted it.

But he didn't.

To be honest, he was just so fucking tired. He'd been led into a personal conflict, shot full of holes, and if it weren't for Jack just _happening_ to hear his struggle, Jesse would be back on Route 66 headed for Deadlock Gorge. Or dead. Probably dead. After that shit, he'd been confined in Angela's ward, poked and prodded, and then put through physical therapy for six days. Not once did he see the sun, especially after Reyes had been called in for a UN meeting and left him to the ward's devices. Jesse felt trapped, tethered to his bed by drips and bandages. Whatever positivity and security he'd built up over three months was torn down in just two weeks.

Because of that, McCree became surly and combative as soon as he left the ward. He kept to himself, stayed in his room when he could, and had even begun to skip meals. When Angela and nurse Hudson checked on him, he refused to open the door (they got it manually unlocked, but once again, poor nurse Hudson ended up with a broken nose). He even turned away Reyes when he returned from the UN meeting. Originally, Gabe had chalked it up to getting readjusted. Apparently he was very wrong, which is how he found himself at McCree's door, trying to lure him out peacefully instead of by force.

"Come on, McCree. Open the damn door."

"No."

Turns out, that was a very hard task; Gabriel was very, very close to slamming his head against the wall. That's all he'd heard from the kid, that and "go away".

"You know I can open the door manually, right?"

An empty threat. He heard Jesse give a derisive laugh at it, at him. It sounded hollow, void of the true malice it attempted to convey.

"But you won't," he said, "So leave me alone, I want to sleep."

With a sigh, Gabe pushed away from the wall and turned down the hall towards the infirmary. Maybe Angela would have answers? It would be better than going to Jack and asking him for anything. They'd fought for two weeks straight. The first time Gabe found him, after the surgery of McCree, he almost wanted to kill the Strike Commander. It had been the first time he'd actually gotten physical with Jack since he got reassigned to Blackwatch Commander so many years ago. It would've gotten out of control if Angela hadn't had stopped them. She was an actual angel in most cases, and as Gabe stepped into the infirmary, he hoped she would be able to help him still.

"Good evening, Commander Reyes. How may I help you?"

It was nurse Hudson. Not exactly who he'd planned to see, but not a bad option as far as information went. The poor man had his nosed patched up, bruises dancing across his dark skin, and Gabe couldn't help but feel that smiling (or any other facial expression) was a bitch.

"I really do apologize for McCree's insistence on breaking your nose, nurse Hudson," he said, leaning up against the front desk.

Gabe could see a few medical files pulled up on the screen from where he was, all labeled 'pending'. McCree was one of them. His file was new, but it sure as hell was long. The kid had been severely neglected, and because of that, he'd been so sick that Gabe worried about him surviving once he found out about all that ailed Jesse. Lack of proper vitamins and minerals, clinical depression, chronic anxiety, a bacterial infection, and even taeniasis in the beginning. That was only to name a few. But, with the exception of his psychological illnesses, McCree had made good progress on his recovery, and even then his mental health was improving slowly. With the help of Angela, he'd been offered medications to help him properly catch up with his peers and to ease his mind, both of which seemed to help substantially. He was getting better.

"Thankfully, his subcategory is 'wellness check' this time," Hudson addressed. He had caught Gabriel staring at the file, but he only seemed to look fond instead of upset, "And there's no need to apologize. Agent McCree is getting used to us, that's all."

Gabe gave Hudson a tired smile. That man was a saint. "You're one of the few people outside of Blackwatch that doesn't want McCree's head on a platter. Even then, some of my agents are still resentful of him."

As Jack had jokingly put it, yes, McCree seemed to be the little prince of Blackwatch. He had one month until he was nineteen, but even still, he was so far behind the others. The next youngest agent, Sosa, still had seven years on the kid at age twenty-six, and most others were around that age or in their thirties. They all treated Jesse with respect and the odd Blackwatch brand of affection, teasing him with gallows humor and bringing him (technically illegal) drinks he wasn't supposed to have. Their logic was that if he was old enough to kill a man, he was old enough to drown out his sorrow with some damn alcohol. Reyes didn't disagree.

Despite most of the kindness, an unsettling portion of Blackwatch absolutely despised McCree. They didn't see him as Reyes saw him - a boy, a punk, a mischievous trickster, a gentle helping hand, a kind and proud soul - but instead, they looked at him through dirty lenses. They saw the brand on his arm, the blood on his hands, and made their judgements from that. At least those in the medical ward weren't usually like that, least of all Hudson.

With a soft groan, the good nurse stretched and stood from his chair. He looked at Gabe, (he could see the Commander's inner weariness spill across his face, not unlike tipping over a can of crusty old paint) and he began to walk towards the cafeteria with a smile.

"Why don't you come with me, get some caffeine in you? Unless I'm mistaken, Commander, you're here for information on agent McCree, but I'm useless to you without coffee."

Gabriel could only nod and follow along quietly.

\-----

The cafeteria was always peaceful this time of night. Most agents were fast asleep, or if they were awake, they kept to themselves in other parts of the base. The only people really expected to be roaming around were medical staff and higher ups, and the cafeteria workers were kind enough to leave the coffee machine plugged in for them.

"So, what can I help you with in regards to agent McCree?" Hudson asked. In his hands were two cups of coffee, one of which he slid over to Gabe.

"He's been acting strange since he left the care of the ward. I'm sure you know that better than anyone. Even before that, he was a bit off. He even let me touch him, something he rarely does." As Gabe drank, he couldn't help but wish it were something more alcoholic. Something to just wash away the complications of today.

"Sometimes fear makes us do things we often don't want to do," Hudson said, "It's an instinct more than anything. You know?"

Gabriel paused. Fear? He understood fear. It was a potent force for Jesse during and a few days after a mission. It could even remain present up to a week for him and the other agents. But Jesse was never like this, even when afraid. He was bold, cocky, if not reckless. He wasn't - or hadn't been - broody and aggressive, not since the end of his first month in Blackwatch. Not since Deadlock. Hell, if anything, he'd even started to enjoy himself. Angela had said that his cortisol, norepinephrine, and adrenaline levels had decreased drastically, and that his appetite had improved and he was finally starting to gain weight. He was becoming stable, but Gabe would have to be an idiot to not expect some regression on occasion. Still, Jesse never attacked staff, not on purpose. But Hudson had said something else, something about instincts that stuck in Gabe's brain. Then suddenly it clicked.

Jesse was a being that had to rely solely on his gut feelings regarding on how his leaders and targets would react. He had to have a good head. The kid had said it himself; how else would he have survived Deadlock as long as he did? He could read people like a child's book, and he knew when he could bare his teeth and fight. He also knew when to roll over, expose his delicate throat. Of all the areas Gabe had worked with, what he called Jesse's 'incurable impulses' were the hardest things to tame and redirect. Mostly they weren't controlled, and Gabe had to tucker Jesse out before he listened again. And the kid was smart, no doubt about it, but sure as the world, when something awakened his fear, his mind went dead and his instincts took over. Jack had said he'd gouged out a man's eyes before he even drew his gun, something Gabe knew for damn sure was a residual of his Deadlock days. The more he thought about it, the more he could place individual pieces together to fit Jesse's behavioral puzzle.

Like a wounded animal trapped in its den, he attacked Hudson because the good nurse entered his space. He skipped meals, anxious that it might be taken from him as a punishment, or maybe even tampered with, so why would Jesse even bother to get it in the first place? Lastly, he stayed to himself out of the overwhelming fear of being surrounded others. Gabe was right about one thing; the kid knew when to fight or submit, and Deadlock had taught him that if a man failed a mission, you'd wish you were dead by the time you got back to the base. Jesse felt like he would get ganged up on and be brutally murdered, or that he would have to face enough torture to be wishing for that kind of death.

With a quick and thankful goodbye to a knowing, smiling Hudson, Gabe made for McCree's room without delay.

\----

If he weren't already awake, the loud knocks on his door would have certainly done it. Jesse felt very close to killing whoever was outside his door. He just wanted to starve in peace. Was that so much to ask? He didn't want to face the impending shitstorm he _knew_ he was making worse for himself the longer he avoided it.

"Go the fuck away," he called. All went silent, and McCree let out a breath of relief. Well, he did until his door shot open.

When Gabriel entered his room, Jesse could already feel the stern, authoritative presence take up the entire space. It felt suffocating, domineering; an unspoken challenge. Jesse was up on his feet in seconds to meet said challenge.

"The hell you doing, Reyes?" he hissed.

"I just want to talk, _then_ you can kick me out. Okay?"

Reyes knew full well that it was a futile request. Jesse was chock-full of fearful aggression, the same kind that allowed him to kill those five agents back when he was first found. It was bordering on primal in the way that it affected him. Still, it had to be dealt with before Jesse starved himself or attacked someone else, talking be damned.

Despite the small space, Gabe watched as McCree moved about the room. It almost felt like being circled by an esurient hound. When Gabe would move, even by a minuscule amount, Jesse would reacting in kind. If he shuffled to the left, the kid would go to the right, body low, head down, eyes up, and just like a dog, he attacked viscously and without warning.

It suddenly felt like two bulls sparring in a broom closet. Jesse was faster, his attacks rapid-fire and sharp, but Gabriel was stronger. If he had been caught by surprise, like nurse Hudson, Gabe was certain some part of him would be broken, too, but he came into Jesse's territory with the expectation of fighting. It was one of the reasons he was quick to deflect the punches and small kicks that came at him. A handful of seconds later and Jesse was forced onto the ground, face smashed painfully against the cold tile flooring (Gabe tried to do it as carefully as possible, but slamming someone into the ground could only be so tender). Jesse practically _snarled_ and pushed himself back up into fighting position. Every time he got up, Gabe managed to throw him back down, again and again and again, until finally Jesse didn't get back up.

When Reyes looked down, he could see a busted lip and a bruise forming on the kid's forehead, and he almost felt bad for pushing him down so hard. But the desired outcome had been achieved; no more adrenaline made for a very tired McCree. Poor kid even had a hard time sitting up.

"Can we talk now?" Gabe asked, "Because I want to know what the hell's caused you to act like this."

Jesse nodded, more focused on licking his wounds now than fighting; it hurt his pride more than his body, and Gabe was thankful for that.

"Ironically enough, I don't like being locked in a dungeon. I don't like feeling trapped. And I like Doc Ziegler, but if I had to be with her another day, I might've just ran away before they discharged me."

Reyes huffed out a laugh as he joined Jesse on the floor. He kept his distance (he'd just repeatedly slammed the kid into the floor, so distance felt appropriate), but he was very attentive and mindful of Jesse's nonverbal communications. Sure, he was good at putting up a cocky front with others, but McCree didn't even _try_ schooling his posture into something neutral, let alone assertive and poised. A true testament to his sound thrashing.

"She and Hudson were the only people I really saw for two weeks," Jesse said. He dropped his head, opting to look anywhere but at Reyes. "It was so dark down there, and everything smelled horrible. There wasn't a single window. I ain't used to that; I don't _want_ to be used to that. I hate it."

A small part of Reyes ached guiltily as he looked over Jesse. He was a lot of things: an agent, a kid (no, an adult), an ex gang member, a killer. He could be just about anything, but every single one of those identities had certain restrictions and freedoms. His old life with Deadlock, while dangerous and cruel, let him run as free as a stallion. As long as he didn't cause too much trouble, he could do whatever the hell he wanted without having to deal with the repercussions of his crimes. Blackwatch, on the other hand, was safer and stable, yet it was heavily structured and austere in nature. It relied on hierarchy, discipline, obedience, and trust, all of which were new concepts to McCree. Trust (specifically in Reyes) was the foundation on which all other things were built. If Jesse didn't trust Gabe, no matter how hard anyone tried to instill ideas and principles into him, it would all come crumbling down. From the second he started allowing Jack to decide some of McCree's missions, he had let the faith the kid had in him slowly start to trickle away. Getting wounded in Arkansas was just the straw that broke the camel's back.

With a heavy sigh, Gabe turned to face the kid, hands tight against his thighs. "Look, McCree, you're a good kid, a good agent, but we _both_ have some learning to do. We can't shut each other out. We have to take some preventative measures so these situations don't occur again. You have to tell me how you're feeling, alright? Because I can't-"

Reyes nearly choked on his own tongue as McCree slid quickly into his lap, chest to chest as his legs wrapped around Gabe's waist and his arms slithered around his neck. If it weren't for the fact that he was mentally frozen, Reyes would laugh at how Jesse looked like a sad koala. Neither said anything for an indiscernible amount of time. Eventually, though, Gabe began to rub small, soothing patterns against Jesse's skin, the other wrapping comfortably around his waist.

Would they have to talk about this? Reyes felt like smacking himself. Of course they would have to talk about this. While he didn't want to push Jesse away, this was pretty damn close to, if not already, fraternizing with his subordinate (did he have the conversation with McCree about sleeping with or fooling around with his colleagues?). Besides, Gabe felt guilty, even disgusted maybe, at the fact that he _enjoyed_ this, wanted more of this, wanted more of anything he could get off of Jesse. Shit, this kid was eighteen (one month away from nineteen, his brain supplied. Like that made it any better), and he himself was twice his age plus some. He really was a sick fuck, wasn't he? Maybe all those years of war had scrambled his brain up real good. Regardless, Gabriel refused to let himself ruin the moment. Instead, he simply relaxed and listened as Jesse's breathing softened, allowing him to fall peacefully into sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck at proofreading sometimes, so if you see an error, please point it out to me!


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